5.2.11 twinkle - a drabble of 100 words

He was 88 years old. The wispy white hair on top of his head didn’t come close to covering his baldness. The age spots on his hands were markedly brown. He had to use a walker to get around.

There he was, laying in the hospital bed. There I stood next to him, counting out his pills. He took the little white pill cup and the small Styrofoam cup full of water and peered at me, blue eyes full of laughter.

“Are you married?” he asked.

“No,” I responded, grinning.

“If I were 60 years younger, would you marry me?”